When I committed to attending UNCG for graduate school, I suddenly realized the amount of changes I had just agreed to. Like most of my colleagues, I was packing up and leaving the life I had made—my friends, my routines, my job—behind me in order to have two years where… Continue reading…
It’s times like these—early September, the start of the semester, the twilight of another year—that I remember I am rarely this thing called myself. Hardly a month ago I moved to a new city in a new state, where I knew no one and no one knew me. With the… Continue reading…
Like many this year, I found myself uncomfortably situated inside my home in isolation that seemed to grow longer and longer each day. I had plans for the first half of the year. I wanted to prepare myself for my MFA program: read as many poetry collections and write as… Continue reading…
The existential bodies of marginalized people are the new frontier for colonial land grabs. I was recently told, “I have una alma Latina (a Latin soul),” by a man who most certainly did not. He and Jessica Krug, the GW professor who forged an Afro-Latinx identity, are not alone in… Continue reading…
Reading as a writer is an odd activity at times or at least in my personal experience. As a writer I find myself always looking for something in a text. I go in with the intention of analysis; to pick whatever I’m reading apart to discover the meaningful core of… Continue reading…
It’s hard to navigate the rattling in my brain at the question: what am I reading? Is it, also, what have I read? Read recently, or forever ago, which continues replaying? If it means reading in this very moment, is it not this which I’m coaxing to form in front… Continue reading…
Do you ever read what you initially thought was a random assortment of books, only to find they are surprisingly related? By this I don’t mean a link that you yourself might draw loosely within your subconscious—I mean a super-strength strand of interrelation between them that seems unlikely, even uncanny…. Continue reading…
In May, a series of complicated and boring events led me to Greensboro three months before I actually needed to be here for the start of my new degree program. While I would’ve been on lockdown anywhere, I was suddenly in isolation in an entirely strange, new place. I’d just… Continue reading…
My name is Dom, but I am known in circles as Domo, Nikkie, Dominicki, Sunshine, Dominoque and of course Dominique. I write poetry and I guess that makes me a poet. Well on second thought, one of my Poetry Club babies knitted me a hat that says “poet” so I… Continue reading…
As a writer, I’m fascinated by the idea of home as a physical and conceptual space. I don’t labor under the impression that I, or my characters, fully comprehend that space; there’s a lot to parse, and true understanding is sometimes too much for a story to bear. To the… Continue reading…
